


save me now (cause tomorrow's gone, just like yesterday)

by orphan_account



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Depression, Self-Destruction, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers, im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-19 10:56:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8203142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Josh doesn’t feel anything anymore.





	

**Author's Note:**

> it's been the worst week of my life
> 
> huge trigger warning, stay safe
> 
> (heavily inspired by believe me, i'm fine by solochaos)

Josh doesn’t feel anything anymore.

He lives each day with no sense of purpose. He floats through every show like a machine, made to beat his drums harder, and harder, and _harder_. He’s jealous. He’s downright jealous that by the end, Tyler is smiling so hard that the lines on his face are pulling back to reveal pearly whites and his smile is so exuberant and bright that Josh is blinded. Josh is jealous that Tyler feels the passion radiating in the venue’s atmosphere like it’s coursing through his veins. Jealous because Tyler is inspiring all these kids and they’re inspiring him. _Jealous_ because Josh can’t feel what Tyler is feeling.

Instead, he feels all of their gazes boring through him. Josh can sense their eyes watching, scrutinizing, criticizing him. They point out his endless insecurities and take him apart piece by piece until he’s nothing but bones from a rotting carcass forgotten and left in the backyard of his childhood home. 

He hates it. He hates it so much that he just wants it to disappear. He wishes every part of him would just cease to exist. He wants to rip away his skin until all he sees is red. He wants to claw out his heart and feel the beat of it disappear in his hands. He wants to force his head underwater until it fills his lungs and his whole body, because maybe then he won’t feel so empty.

Josh is lying to himself. He wants to believe that his happiness comes in orange bottles and he grasps onto the possibility that maybe, just _maybe_ , he can be normal and like everybody else. He thinks that maybe the pills that rest in his palm will somehow _fix_ him, when he knows, he’s always known, that they won’t, and he doesn’t want them to. He just wants it to end.

  


_You’re angry, you’re so fucking angry. Why does your brain have to be so fucked up? Why can’t you just be happy? Why can’t you just be normal?_

  


Josh can’t bear to look at himself anymore. He knows what he used to be, the image that so many people around the world look up to and idolize, and he hates himself, he fucking _despises_ himself, because he doesn’t know how to return to that. He doesn’t know how to be that person anymore. So Josh puts on a facade and tells kids that have their whole lives ahead of them to stay alive. He’s a hypocrite. The words sound vile coming out of his mouth, like his voice is tainting the phrase and making it impure.

  


_You’re dirty, you’re filthy, and you’ll never be loved._

  


He wants to kill himself. Everything will be peaceful and the way it should be, without Josh spoiling and befouling it with his existence. But of course, everything that’s beautiful must come to an end. What happens when stars die? What will happen when the world ends? They’re worth remembering, and Josh is ugly and insignificant. He’s not worth remembering.

  


_You drink until your throat is burning and you can barely keep your eyes open. You swallow pills after pills of antidepressants until nausea envelops your body, because you’re just so fucking unhappy that you’re willing to try anything at this point that will let you die happy. Too many nights are spent cradling your toilet, and now it seems like a competition of whether it’s from alcohol, drug overdose, or just your own fingers being shoved down your throat._

  


Josh keeps searching. He’s so desperate for something that will make him want to live, keep him alive. He finds nothing, and all he’s left with is himself. He’s alone.

  


_You’re alone._

  


His anger needs an exit, and he carves it one. Josh sits on his bathroom floor and drags the blade across his skin, gritting his teeth as he watches the blood bloom. There’s nothing beautiful about this. It’s painful and messy and frantic. He’s _scared_. Josh is so scared, and nothing can stop the overwhelming sense of guilt that comes directly after in the form of shifting eyes and bright red marks hidden under piles and piles of clothes. 

He knows it’s wrong. He knows he should stop, but nothing motivates him to, because nothing fucking matters. 

  


_It’s a cycle. Maybe you’ll be proud of yourself for making it a week, but one shitty night and it comes crashing down. All you do is fuck up. You’re not surprised though, because you were expecting it. It’s a cycle._

  


There’s nothing left of him anymore. All he does is cry and he hates it because it makes his head hurt like someone is pounding on it from the inside. One day, it suddenly stops, like somebody flipped a switch, or maybe he just ran out of tears. Josh doesn’t know. He can’t cry anymore.

He wants to die.

  


_You’re fine._


End file.
